Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Can't get no love

I've been on the job hunt in NYC for a few weeks now, sending out resumes to jobs I really want and making mental notes about jobs I "could" do if I really had to. I even called back my old inventory job from Ohio. Lo and behold, the day I'm supposed to go do paperwork to start with them, my temp agency calls with a possible long-term position. Finance, Excel...not the most exciting thing, but if there's a steady paycheck in it and it's not too mind numbing, that's all I really want. Besides, if Rockstar calls me, it'll be easier to quit one job than two. We'll see. Marcie has "a day or two" to get back to me about this "long-term" job before I say "forget it" to the "whole endeavor."

I'm also still playing with the idea of restarting my freelance PC repair gig here in the big city. It was nice making my own hours, setting my own rate of pay, all that stuff. It was a lot of work before, but I kinda felt like the MAN at times, like when I'd finally get around that pain in the ass computer problem plaguing my nice client(s).

I also think about the freelance writing consultant thing I talked to Maria about starting. It'd be like the Writers Lab from college, only freelance and on an individual basis. I'd love to work one-on-one with writers again, instead of being a generic copy editor for some faceless, soulless corporate conglomerate. The big question is, can I afford to advertise my services in the NY Times?

"Spread" is an interesting word. There are really good and really bad connotations for it. If you're talking about butter or jelly or wings or legs, it's pretty awesome. When you're talking about infection and disease or panic, it's pretty terrible. Just thought I'd share that.

Rob took off for Ohio today, and I'm headed back to Boston probably on Saturday for an Oscars party (and games! woot!), leaving poor old Maria here with Mario by her lonesome. I look forward to alone time, but she's fretting it like the plague. Get a book or rent a movie. Leaving your personal happiness in the hands of someone else sets it up to be broken. That's why it's called personal happiness. It's yours. Keep it. Don't let people fuck with it.

I had a big chat with Alison about this the last time we drove the torturous 8 hours back to Ohio, torturous not for the company or the time spent, but...have you ever driven through Pennsylvania? The land that time forgot. Anyway, Ali's all about the cosmetic surgeries in the hopes of someday making herself a Barbie doll or something, living up to what everyone else thinks a person should look like. Fight Club has a lot of good messages about this topic. "Self-improvement is masturbation." My point to her was that living by everyone else's standards, she'll never be happy. Live up to what YOU want, and you'll get there. Otherwise, how will you ever be happy and stop being critical? That's no way to live.

This also gets back to a "study" Marissa was "conducting"...."sort of," in which people were asked whether they believed their successes and failures in life were due more to effort or innate ability. The answers vary wildly (I personally chock both wins and losses up to effort), and Maria even tried to add "opportunity" as a variable. While certainly valid in the real world, for the purposes of a scientific study, there must be boundaries and parameters. Factoring in something as random as chance makes the study wholly uncontrollable. Thus, the subset of what even defines success or failure has to be limited to the individual's determination. If it's left open for others or society at large to determine, you'll never be good enough or smart enough or pretty enough. There'll always be someone a little better at something, or someone who will think you don't measure up. Fuck them. Live by your own rules. Make yourself happy. In the end, you're the only person you have to live with everyday. Be content with yourself and stop trying to measure up.